


Bad Influence

by maydei



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cats, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 01:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: From a prompt on Tumblr: Hannibal gets a cat.





	Bad Influence

**Author's Note:**

> For user [@geckosandmath](https://geckosandmath.tumblr.com/). This one got a little lengthy to clutter up people's dashes, so I thought I'd put it here. :D

Will lets himself in—that much is normal. He can hear the distant sounds of Hannibal rustling about the kitchen when he does, though the foyer is empty. 

Except that it’s  _not_.

Will goes stock-still. It’s clear the little thing is as shocked to see him as  _he_  is to see  _it._  It’s only a shape, a tiny shadow hiding under the antique table where Hannibal keeps his keys. It’s all-black, though the color of its eyes are a mystery. All he can see is the tapetum lucidum shining at just the right angle, staring at him balefully from where it cowers. 

“Hannibal,” Will says, and knows Hannibal will hear him. “You’ve got a, um. Cat. In your entryway.” God help the poor thing if it’s gotten in by accident. It looks frightened enough that it may be a distinct possibility. Will crouches and holds out his hand, rubs his thumb and index fingers together to beckon it closer. It does not budge.

No surprise. Will’s a dog person, not a cat person. Dogs trust easy. Cats are wary, and they know fellow predators when they see them.

Hannibal emerges from the kitchen, chef’s apron belted around his waist. It’s immaculate, even with the flour coating Hannibal’s hands. The rest of him is austere. Commanding as always. Even in his home, he is alarmingly professional. He doesn’t comment that Will has foregone a hello. He doesn’t comment on the cat. Instead, he searches it out with his eyes; blinks slowly when he sees it, and makes a clicking sound with his tongue. 

As though summoned, the cat hustles. It does not stop for Hannibal to pet, but obediently sprints past him into the kitchen. 

Will’s never known Hannibal to allow just anyone or any _thing_  into his kitchen. Hell, most days,  _Will_ barely feels like he’s allowed there. 

“Please don’t tell me you named it Schrodinger,” Will says.

At long last, Hannibal smiles. It’s privately fond, the secret one he saves only for Will. “If I did?”

“You’d be disowned,” Will replies. He grins at Hannibal and shakes his head as he passes, brushes shoulders with him as they enter the kitchen. The warmth there is not only from the toils of cooking, but from the sense of belonging Will feels as he crosses the threshold. Hannibal already has a glass of wine waiting beside the chair in the corner. 

Hannibal chuckles. He returns to his pan as Will sinks into his seat. When he looks up, the cat is on the counter. Will’s heart nearly stops. Hannibal clucks his tongue disapprovingly, but obligingly snags something from the cutting board and holds it out for the creature to sniff. It does so daintily, and takes the offering from his fingers. When Hannibal lifts the cat from the counter and sets it on the floor, it trots away with its prize—a nameless piece of gristle held between its teeth.

Will does not have to ask what it is.

Instead, he tips his head back and starts to laugh at the flour hand prints on the cat’s pelt, which will inevitably be groomed away later. Hannibal shoots him a look over his shoulder as he goes to wash his hands.

“I take it back,” Will says. He grins as he takes a sip of the wine—white this time, crisp and dry. “You’re just as bad as I am.”

“Then I’ve learned from the best.” The water turns off, and Hannibal pats his hands dry. Now that he’s unburdened from the mess, he approaches, and Will rises to meet him in the middle. 

The kiss is slow, but Will feels less hesitant now that he’s here. Hannibal’s palms on his waist are a comforting weight. The touch of his lips tastes like the same wine Will’s been drinking. He’d usually allow himself to be lost by this, but Will can’t help but grin. He laughs, and it breaks them apart—Hannibal keeps him close, and though his expression is faintly put-out, Will can tell he’s happy.

“But seriously,” Will murmurs against Hannibal’s mouth. “Please tell me its name isn’t Schrodinger.”

Hannibal shakes his head with a secret curve of his lips. “No. She’s been wandering the neighborhood for several days now. I believe someone abandoned her.” There’s a flicker in his eyes that Will recognizes. If Hannibal ever finds out who left that poor cat, nothing short of divine intervention will save them. “But in the storm last night, I thought of you. What you told me of Winston. All I had to do was open the door, and when I stood aside, she simply came in without asking.” 

Will’s grin widens. “Hope you didn’t name her after me.”

Hannibal shakes his head again, squeezes Will’s waist fondly and directs him toward the sink, gently pushes him away and returns to his task. “Her name is Dharma. Wash up. I’ll need your help tonight.”

It takes a moment. Will’s hands are thoroughly lathered, and Hannibal has returned to the cutting board by the time the words sink in, and he  _loses_  it. 

“Dharma?” He asks, and can barely breathe for laughing so hard as he rounds on Hannibal. “Like the kid’s book with the cat and the monk,  _that_  Dharma?”

Hannibal’s lips press into a thin line, but there’s a flash in his eyes and Will knows that he’s been caught. “Like the cosmic philosophy.”

“And the book about the cat. Jesus.” Will swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand; his jaw hurts from grinning. “You might as well have named her Garfield.”

“Will, really,” he huffs. Will knows he’s lucky Hannibal likes him so much. No one else would get away with giving him such a hard time. But Will abruptly thinks twice about it when Hannibal says, “And to think I was going to ask for help naming the others.”

Will freezes. “Others?” 

There is a tiny thunder of feet, and two kittens come barreling into the room. They stumble over one another and slide across the floor, come to a halt with an exchange of hisses. One sees Hannibal and bolts to him, and immediately ascends the column of his leg with tiny claws. 

Hannibal sighs and plucks it free; holds its tiny, fuzzy body in the palm of his hand, and sets it on the floor. The other kitten coils around Will’s ankle and purrs.

“Kittens,” Will says dumbly. “You have a cat  _and_  kittens.”

“Like I said,” Hannibal replies, and sounds defeated. “I learned from the best.”

 

 


End file.
